


The Show Must Go On

by kibasniper



Series: Femslash February 2020 [8]
Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2020, Light Pining, Makeup, Mood Swings, Pre-Canon, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22607653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: After learning that Bonita will not come out of her dressing room (again), Becky takes measures into her own hands (again).
Relationships: Becky Houndstooth/Bonita Soleil
Series: Femslash February 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618900
Kudos: 8





	The Show Must Go On

**Author's Note:**

> Femslash February 2020 Day 8: Make-up.  
> this was originally going to be a fic with callie/dedf1sh from splatoon, but that idea wasn't coming out right, and i wanted to try my hand at a fic with these two since i haven't really written about the mental world figures in years.

“Bonita says she’s not coming out,” the actress in the poodle costume said.

Becky’s grip on her clipboard tightened. Those were the last words she wanted to hear. She would have rather heard Bonita had drunken herself into a stupor than refuse to leave her dressing room, but Becky knew she couldn’t be that lucky.

With the trainwreck that was morning rehearsal, she didn’t need to deal with her star actress acting fussy (again). Jasper’s scathing criticism tore into the Horrors of Hagatha Home (again), causing Bonita to rush off in tears (again). Not to mention another actor had been crushed by a ceiling light (again), but he was replaceable. Bonita wasn’t.

“And you suuure she won’t come out? Did she say anything that might make her change her mind? Any insinuations like that?” Becky asked, bordering on desperate.

The poodle shook her head. “Nope. Says she’s gonna stay in there for the rest of her life.” Her beady black eyes brightened. “Oh! Since that’s the case, can I have-?”

“No, no, you can’t have Bonita’s part. Stick with your script,” Becky interjected, cutting a line in the air with her finger.

The poodle scoffed. She looked ready to retort only to amble back to the other actors. They were on their smoke breaks, but instead of staying in their dressing rooms, they loitered on set and puffed out thick, gray circles above their heads. They welcomed her back with tired grins and offered her a cigarette, but she pulled out a cigar from behind her long puppy ear and took an even longer drag.

Becky watched her go with her brows furrowed and a growl rising in her throat. She couldn’t believe the audacity of her actors, but worse, Bonita was locked away in her room (again). She realized she was losing control of her productions (again), and feeling Jasper’s eyes narrow on her as she started marching towards Bonita’s dressing room only fueled her irritation.

“Well, well, Becky! You seem to have more gray hairs than usual. Feeling a bit overwhelmed?” Jasper sneered from his balcony.

Becky clenched her hand into a fist by her chest. Her heavy clogs pounded on the stage as she turned around, and she snapped, “Oh, put a sock in it! At least I don’t have a bald spot in the center of my head.” Her lip curled derisively. “Do you even wash that rat’s nest you call hair?”

Jasper chortled and leaned back. He gripped the golden balcony with his stubby fingers and said, “I see you still have equal bark and bite, but soon, you’ll have neither.” He grinned lasciviously and cocked his head. “Some performance from Bonita, eh? Ran off in tears and soaked her gown for the fourth time this week. How is she supposed to bring light to his dreary theater? Want to run that by me again, Becky?”

She grumbled. She knew she should’ve had her conversation with the poodle actress in her office. Even moving to the other side of the theater might have prevented Jasper from listening in on their discussion. But privacy was damned in the theater because no matter how hard she tried escaping his criticisms, it always followed. Jasper wouldn’t let up until he had her cornered and sniveling, which she refused to give him, so she pivoted and stormed off to Bonita’s dressing room, Jasper’s victorious laughter bellowing behind her.

“Yes, run! Run, dear Becky! We both know Bonita will never shine as brightly as before! Give up! Surrender to the inevitable, and let this tragedy see the dutiful climax!” Jasper cackled, and applause rang out from the audience, a laugh track playing in tune with their clapping.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, you tub of lard,” she hissed under her breath and bowed her head. She jabbed a finger at her actors and shouted at them to get ready to perform in five minutes. Watching them scramble to put out their cigarettes and wave the smog from the stage made her smirk only for it to fall as she rounded the corner, coming face-to-face with Bonita’s dressing room.

It wasn’t the first time she had to convince Bonita to emerge. Last week, she played to Bonita’s conscience to convince her to act in Sunshine Shenanigans. She had said Bonita was an icon, a glowing light, the star of her productions, and without her, the theater risked being shut down (again). But although Bonita managed to smile and tried to perform at Becky’s request, mishaps occurred, and another actress found herself victim to the Phantom’s cruelty (again) with the blame falling on Bonita’s shoulders while Jasper ripped the production apart like always.

Bonita was reaching the end of her rope, and Becky understood her anguish, but she couldn’t let her wallow in a sea of her own self-pity for another minute while Jasper had the last laugh.

Squaring her shoulders, Becky sucked in a breath and heaved it out. She pressed her clipboard to her chest and dragged herself past mannequins draped in sequin dresses and boxes filled with dusty props. Stepping over a rusted microphone, she kicked it towards the corner and glared at Bonita’s perfect signature scrawled on the nameplate, the sound of her record player with its obnoxious sobbing echoing in the locked room.

Rapping the door three times, she leveled her voice and said, “Oh, Bonita, we need you out here in five minutes. Up to it!”

The crying continued as she expected. Dragging her hand down her face, she groaned. She knew Bonita was difficult to work with, but refusing to answer soured Becky’s already irritable mood. She pounded on the door until her knuckles ached. Tapping her foot, she resisted the temptation to kick it down, knowing Bonita would whine about needing a new dressing room before thinking about going back onstage.

“Bonita! We can’t keep doing this. I know the Phantom killed again, and I know Jasper criticized you to hell and back, but we need you! Can’t we compromise or do I have to drag you out by your shawl?” Becky placed her hand on the wood and frowned at the splinters jutting out and pressing into her fingers. The theater really was in need of repair, not that she would say it. It would only be fuel for Jasper’s onslaught if he ever heard her admitting that the walls needed to be fixed or that the curtains had holes so small mice could scamper through.

The record playing screeched to a stop, and she flinched. Drawing back, Becky fumbled with her clipboard and listened but heard nothing. She strained her ears, expecting to hear curses or sobs, but to her bewilderment, it was silent. She gnawed on her lip and knocked again, calling out Bonita’s name only to yipe as the door flung open and nearly hit her in the jaw.

“What the hell do you want now, Becky? Can’t a lady have time to cry?” Bonita spat, clutching the hood of her shawl with both hands.

Lowering her clipboard, Becky huffed, “You’ve been crying all morning.” She would have said more, but her own gasp cut her off. Horror beseeched her as she examined the inky streaks running down Bonita’s plump cheeks. Her eyelashes, once long and dark, sagged. Her vibrant yellow eyes, which had been compared to pools of liquid gold, were puffy and pale red, bloodshot. Shaking her head, she swallowed down her shock and shouted, “Your face! Your face, it’s-!”

“Oh, this face that’s been compared to the beauty of a hundred supermodels is getting you in a damn tizzy because of a little crying?” Bonita smeared the mascara across her lips. She threw her hand out, a smile bordering on manic gracing her distraught face. “Well, get used to it, Ms. Director, ‘cause Bonita Soleil is having herself a damn good cry, and if it’s a damn good cry she needs, then she’s gonna have it until she says she’s done!”

“Why are you talking about yourself in the third person?” Becky mumbled in disbelief only to shake her head. “No! No, no, look-!” She grabbed the door before Bonita could slam it shut on her. “I know it’s tough right now, but I need you to work with me. Those actors we have out there, we both know they’re dog crap compared to you, and I need you to light up and-”

“God, give it a rest, Becky!” Bonita rolled her eyes and turned around, her long tail of her shawl dragging on the carpet as she stormed back to her seat.

Pursing her lips, she glanced around the dressing room and sighed. Things had clearly been thrown (again). Dresses and jewelry littered the floor and couch. A new crack was in her mirror, the connecting desk looking like it would collapse with all of the acting trophies Bonita stacked on it. She had torn up old autographed photos, her pretty face resembling a smattering of crooked scars as Becky stepped over them, careful not to leave footprints.

Bonita sank in her seat. With one clean slap, her awards toppled to the ground. She buried her face in both hands, her shoulders and back hunching forward. Hiccups ghosted past her lips as tears welled in her eyes, quickly shedding and leaving wet stains on her shawl.

Guilt twisted in Becky’s chest. The pressure weighing on Bonita was tremendous. If it wasn’t for the Phantom, then Bonita would still be in her prime, and Becky could direct as much as she wanted with her best actress.

Itching through her scalp, Becky sighed and said, “Okay, okay, cut the waterworks. You’ll make your eyes worse than they already are.”

“Jeez, way to cheer a girl up. No wonder you’re still single,” Bonita muttered and slouched back in her seat, her tears stopping in two blinks.

“Look, why don’t I just-” Becky glanced at the desk and snatched a tube of mascara. “-reapply for you. Is that okay? Can I do that and give you a minute to cool off and think things over?”

Her pointed tone made Bonita narrow her eyes at her. She straightened her back and snatched a crumpled tissue off the desk. It was still moist from her fit, but she flattened it and pressed it to her face. She massaged her cheeks and mouth, rubbing off the black streaks left behind by her mascara. Tossing the tissue and missing the trash can, Bonita closed her eyes and waited.

Becky supposed permission was granted and tossed her clipboard on the desk. Uncapping the mascara, she frowned at the unfamiliar name brand and said, “Hey, I thought you got a shipment of waterproof mascara already.”

“Never came,” Bonita said, Becky groaning in response. She smirked. “Probably work of the Phantom.”

“And I bet he dipped into my budget to order…” She sighed. “...‘Wet N Wild Mega Protein Mascara?’ Because I know for a fact that I didn’t order this for you.”

“Yeah, I bet he did just to mess with me. Cheaper alternatives to name brands, what a monster.”

Becky’s mouth quirked. Finding humor in any situation was one of Bonita’s finer attributes, even if it ticked Becky off at times. She wasn’t sure if Bonita had ordered such a baleful mascara to make up for her missing shipment or if the Phantom had really replaced her order with a kind she would find a drugstore, but she supposed it would have to do for now.

Cupping Bonita’s cheek, she tilted her head back. She wielded the brush with a deft hand and carefully flicked her wrist, applying one coat to her eyelashes. While she wasn’t an expert with make-up - she preferred using only eyeliner - she knew not to apply too much in fear of making it clump and stick together, for it would detract from the softness of Bonita’s features, which up close, reminded Becky of sunlight made flesh. She applied two coats to both eyelashes, marveling over how quickly they curled and lifted from the matted, wet disgraces that had blemished Bonita’s face. Her fingers trailed down Bonita’s cheeks, hints of wet mascara staining the tips, but she blushed when Bonita’s eyes snapped open and interrupted her admiration, the heat in her face making Bonita smirk at her.

“How do you like it?” Becky quickly asked, stepping aside and letting Bonita inspect herself in the mirror.

“Not too shabby,” Bonita said, Becky capping the mascara.

“If I give you some time to get ready, will you come out?” Hope overshadowed the desperation in her voice. She ignored the tightening in her back as Bonita let silence hang over them.

Bonita didn’t look at her as she smoothed a few stray hairs back off her forehead. “I’ll consider it. I got some-” She gestured at the tubes of lipstick and perfumes in her drawer, the contents messy. “-cleaning up to do face-wise.”

She supposed that was the best she could do for now and ignored the lump in her throat. Becky collected her clipboard and pressed it to her chest, her swagger returning in her steps as she headed for the door. 

There was more she wanted to discuss. The words were right on the tip of her tongue. But she couldn’t risk saying anything else which might have put a damper on Bonita’s acquiesce. She had a show to direct, and she finally had her beloved actress coming back onstage. Nothing would take that from her, not even the doubt in her thoughts.

Closing the door behind her, she thought she heard Bonita mutter her name. But she told herself that she had done well and marched back out to order her performers to clean up their act, that their star was going to hit the stage sooner than later. 

As she waved the smoke from the stage with her clipboard as the others scurried away, Becky wondered what would have happened if she believed her ears and tried ignoring how terribly her heart squeezed in her chest.

(Bonita’s hand fell back in her lap. She stared at her sorry reflection. Lowering her hood, she glared at her limp tresses, her scalp faintly itchy and needing a good scratch. She chewed on the inside of her mouth and told herself she could handle it, that she was Bonita Soleil, the one who shouldered the real burdens of the theater, but like all the other times, she knew what would happen again.)

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was also gonna be more hurt/comfort in nature with bonita crying more and becky consoling her, but i liked the vagueness of the ending with becky putting her theater in front of bonita's needs and bonita feeling the weight of the theater on her shoulders. she's got a lot of stress to deal with, especially with that dastardly, mysterious phantom who-is-definitely-not-jasper!


End file.
